


Delirium

by wewriteletters



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Fever, Fever Dreams, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wewriteletters/pseuds/wewriteletters
Summary: Just because Malcolm was out of the basement didn't mean he was free from John Watkins. For Bad Things Bingo: Fevers.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Paul Lazar | John Watkins
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699966
Comments: 14
Kudos: 61





	Delirium

**Author's Note:**

> I'm embarrassed by how short this is but it's literally been in my drafts since February and I'm trying to post something at least once a week now. Hope you enjoy!

Malcolm pulled the thin hospital blanket up to his chest. He tried to get it up higher, but between having only one functioning hand and how weak he felt, that was the best he could do. Despite the sweat that was pouring down his face, Malcolm felt like he was freezing. 

The room was dark, the only light coming from a small overhead lamp that was kept on so the night nurse could see when she came in to take his vitals. In the glow of it, Malcolm could see his mother curled up in the recliner in the corner of the room, fast asleep, no doubt knocked out on her own sleeping pills. Malcolm didn’t know if he should be grateful or frustrated that none of the medication he knew he was on were doing anything to help him sleep. On one hand, it meant he wouldn’t be trapped in a night terror.

But on the other hand, considering John Watkins was currently standing in the other corner of the room, chains and axe in hand and a grin on his face, clearly being awake wasn’t going any better.

Malcolm swallowed back a wave of nausea and tried to close his eyes again. The last thing that had been on his mind when he escaped Watkin’s torture room was wound infection, but the blade he had been stabbed with was at least a decade old and shoving his sweaty, dirty, shirt inside the cut to stop the bleeding hadn’t helped. What Malcolm had expected to be a twenty four hours or less trip to the ER had turned into a five day long (and still ongoing) hospital stay when a doctor noticed his already rising temperature. Despite being immediately admitted and placed on broad spectrum antibiotics, by the next day Malcolm was running a fever of one hundred and two and blood tests revealed he had Peritonitis. 

If Malcolm thought the throbbing in his hand was bad, it was nothing compared to the absolute agony that ripped through his abdomen every time he so much as took a breath. Despite how much sweat poured down his face and how his temperature just kept rising, he was always always freezing, his body involuntarily shaking and his teeth chattering. He had to be put on a feeding tube because he couldn’t keep anything down, but it somehow did nothing to stop the nausea. 

And his fever certainly didn’t help with the hallucinations. 

“What do you want?” Malcolm’s voice didn’t go above a whisper. He didn’t want to wake up his mother but even if he tried to speak at full volume, he wouldn’t have been able too. His throat was too dry and even moving his lips took up nearly all his energy. Engaging with the hallucination might not be the best idea, but Malcolm didn’t know what else to do to try it to go away. 

John simply chuckled, swinging the chains back and forth in his hands. “What do you think I want, Malcolm? Have a picnic? Maybe play some cards?” John took a step forward and Malcolm instinctively scotted back, only to immediately regret the movement when his stomach lurched in response. “I really did a number on you, didn’t I? You must have felt so strong taking me down. But look at you now.” 

“I saved my family. You can’t take that away from me.” The words came out more like groans. Malcolm felt his face getting hotter, his mind moving further and further from reality. “You’re not even real.”

“Oh, I’m real. I may not be here, but I’m real. I’m sitting pretty in a cell right about now, but God knows you will see me again. And this time I won’t go so easy on you.” Watkins smiled more and cradled the axe over his shoulder. 

“Please, leave me alone.”

“You need to stop worrying so much about me, Malcolm,” John said in a sharp tone. “You know who you should really be scared of…” John went silent, but his eyes went to Malcolm’s side. 

Malcolm felt a hand on his shoulder and somehow he felt even colder than before. He didn’t even need to turn and see who was next to him. 

“My boy, now that you know the truth...well there’s no point in keeping you around.”

Malcolm lurched forward, the screams from his terror mixing in with screams of agony as his stomach swelled with pain at the pressure. He was drenched in sweat, was on the verge of throwing up, and he even felt tears in his eyes. He tried to slow his breath but between the pain in the fear, it didn’t seem possible.

“Darling, it’s okay, I’m here.” Another hand was placed on his shoulder and Malcolm flinched away. “Please, open your eyes.”

Reluctantly, Malcolm did. Slowly, his mother was revealed, leaning down over his bed and running her hand through his wet hair. “It was just a bad dream.”

Malcolm was having trouble believing her. His eyes raced around the room, each corner filled with darkness seeming suspicious now. “But-but John! And Dad-” Malcolm was cut off when his throat gave in. His mouth was too dry to continue. Jessica quickly grabbed a glass of water with a straw from the bedside table and Malcolm drank greedily, the cool water not doing anything for his fever. 

“Are not here, Malcolm,” his mother replied. “It’s just us. Gil was here a few hours ago, remember? With Dani and JT? And this very awkward woman who told us more about corpses than I cared to know.” Jessica shook her head. “You’re okay. I mean, as long as you didn’t rupture your stitches.”

The pain in Malcolm’s abdomen became apparent again and he groaned, reaching out to clutch it instinctively. With his mother’s help, he slowly laid back down, letting out a breath he had been holding for what felt like hours when his head finally reached the pillow.

“Dear, you must be in so much pain,” Jessica said softly, moving her hand down to hold Malcolm’s. “Let me call the nurse, she can give you something to help with sleep-”

“No!” The words came out so harshly, Malcolm almost sat up again. His eyes squeezed shut and he gritted his teeth through another wave of pain and nausea. “Please, just...stay with me? I don’t think I can sleep now.” 

“Of course, Malcolm.” 

“Thank you.” He shifted back on the pillow. Malcolm was exhausted but he knew he wasn’t going to be falling asleep any time soon. He felt even worse than before; his body temperature was rising, he was still shaking, and he felt like he was going to be sick at any minute. But at least he wasn’t stuck in that hallucination anymore.

He tried to relax into his mother’s touch, and ignore the dark corners of the room that were ready to pull him down whenever his eyes shut.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out my Prodigal Son blog on tumblr @malclombright <3


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